


message from the veins

by Sapphire_blue



Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: M/M, baby's first criminal minds fic!, this is probably a combination of angst and comedy, trying something new in the new year
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-13
Updated: 2019-01-13
Packaged: 2019-10-09 07:43:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,681
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17402840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sapphire_blue/pseuds/Sapphire_blue
Summary: Spencer Reid has an IQ of 187, with an eidetic memory to boot and can read twenty thousand word per minute. Bring in the feelings, and all his brilliance goes right out the window.





	message from the veins

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from "Believer" by Imagine Dragons

i.

 

For a certifiable genius, Spencer Reid is certainly an idiot.

Spencer has an IQ of 187, with an eidetic memory to boot and can read twenty thousand word per minute. Bring in the feelings, and all his brilliance goes right out the window. Take, for example, when he spills coffee all over Morgan’s blue oxford shirt this morning because it makes Morgan’s muscles look positively delectable. Spencer has never been jealous of a shirt before, but apparently there is a first time for everything.

“You okay, kid?” Morgan asks him in the midst of cursing up a storm.

“I burned your abs,” Spencer replies, stupefied.

Morgan gives him a concerned look.

“Napkins!” Spencer says desperately, hoping to any deity that may or may not be watching over them that he is not flushing a bright red in his embarrassment. Given the day he’s been having, however, it seems like any such deity, if they exist, must hate him already. “You need napkins!”

He makes a hasty exit from the bullpen. Morgan can find the napkins himself. 

 

ii.

 

“You’re an idiot.”

Spencer opens his mouth to protest, but Garcia continues speaking right over him, “A lovable idiot, but an idiot nonetheless.”

“Am not,” he says petulantly.

“Are too.”

“Am - Garcia! This is not funny!”

“It is from where I’m sitting,” Garcia cackles maniacally. 

Spencer considers asking Hotch to give having her drug tested another consideration but scrapes the idea preemptively. She would probably find some diabolical way to fool the test, knowing her.

“You laugh in the face of my pain,” he says irritably, “I came here to ask for your help.”

“Ask me nicely and I might consider helping you,” Garcia tells him while twirling one of her ridiculous furry pens between her fingers. Spencer focuses on the almost hypnotical spin of it instead of looking at her directly.

“Help me, Obi - Wan Kenobi. You're my only hope?” He asks with a weak smile.

Garcia’s face softens in a sympathetic expression and she sighs before setting her pen down on the table, which is a shame since Spencer has been almost hoping that the twirling pen would somehow hypnotize this,  _ this crush _ , out of him.

“You can always tell him, you know,” she says, “He’s your friend. He’s not gonna be a jerk about it if he doesn’t feel the same, which I highly doubt, by the way,”

The thing about Garcia is that she is a kind human being,  _ most of the time _ , and despite her self-proclaimed and often accurate omniscient oracle status, she does have a blindspot when it comes to people she cares about and he and Morgan both fall under that category.

“He’s my best friend,” he tells her dejectedly, “I don’t want to risk our friendship for something so minuscule.”

Garcia makes to speak, perhaps to protest against labelling this crisis as minuscule, but Spencer keeps speaking right over her. “And I don’t want to remind him of anything...traumatic.”

He refuses to talk about  _Carl Buford_ behind Morgan’s back. Even mentioning his name out loud seems almost, almost _disrespectful_ to Morgan. 

“I’m sorry, Spencer,” Garcia says, and her eyes are so understanding, so kind and pitying, that Spencer wants to hate her almost, but he can never, so he turns around and leaves Garcia’s lair without another word.

Seems like running away is all he’s been doing lately.

 

iii.

 

A job like his means putting his personal feelings aside on a regular basis. People to save, criminals to catch. Spencer is good at his job. He should be good at keeping a lid on his feelings.

The matter of the fact is that he is not.

But he’s learning that pretending seems to do the trick too.

Fake it til you make it, as the saying goes.

Hotch gives him a concerned glance or two a few times, but Spencer steadfastly stares ahead and does not make eye contact and the older man seems to drop the matter, though not before giving him one of his rare smiles. Spencer takes that to mean that he will not press the issue but will be there if Spencer needs to talk. He is so, _so_ thankful for the stalwart presence of Aaron Hotchner.

JJ is not as easy. Their strong friendship equates to her being attuned to him in a way that means he can never hide from her for too long. She asks him outright if he is alright, if he needs to talk, but Spencer is determined to not involve her in this. They all work as a team in a high stress job that demands their full attention and effort. They cannot afford to be distracted with such trivial matters. So, he gives her a reassuring smile and looks her straight in the eyes and lies.

“It’s okay, JJ. I’m fine, just not getting enough sleep.”

JJ doesn’t seem to believe him, but after extracting a promise to just to talk to her if he needs a sympathetic ear or something, she backs off.

Still, he catches her staring at him curiously sometimes. This along with Garcia’s too understanding smile and Emily’s inquisitive frown and Rossi’s seemingly uncaring but hesitant smirks makes him feel on edge.

They are not the elite team for nothing. They all smell blood in the water and sooner or later, Spencer will have to do something about it.

It makes him feel as if his nerves are all frayed, as though ants are crawling all over his skin.

It is not a feeling he enjoys.

Through all this, Morgan remains mercifully obvious.

Count your blessings and all that.

 

iv.

 

Then comes Texas.

He steps into the path of a rifle without a vest on, all to save a boy who could have been a reflection of him.

If things had gone a little different, if only tiny details had been altered, Spencer could have been the one with a gun in his hand and a foot in his grave.

No one else sees it that way.

Hotch rips into him the moment they have some privacy, and Spencer takes it all in silence. He knows what he did, and he is unashamed. Hotch’s harsh words do not sting as much as they could have, possibly because he knows he scared their stoic unit chief today with his little stunt. He understands, and yet he is unapologetic. The others keep quiet, perhaps to not overwhelm him, but their anxiety is palpable. 

All except Morgan, it seems. Derek Morgan is glorious in his fury. He grabs Spencer by the arm the moment Hotch is done with him and drags him to the nearest men’s bathroom. Ignoring Spencer’s half-hearted protests, he locks the bathroom door and places himself firmly in front of it, blocking the only exit.

Spencer refuses to cower.

“You could have died today.”

Morgan’s voice is dangerously, deceptively soft, and it sets off alarm bells in Spencer’s mind.

“I’m still here, Morgan,” he says quietly, reassuringly. It seems to do little to soothe the older man’s nerves, and his hand tightens almost painfully around Spencer’s elbow. Spencer had forgotten that Morgan had left it there, but now that he is aware again, the touch burns fiercely, and the heat travels up his arms and down his spine. It almost feels like Morgan is branding him, _claiming him_ , and it makes him want to shiver, to fidget, to put some distance between them, but against all odds, Spencer holds still.

“You could have died,” Morgan repeats, and his fingers dig into the soft flesh of Spencer’s skin, leaving crescent-shaped imprints that will fade come morning but they will both know that they were there. “I don’t know what I’d - “

Morgan cuts off abruptly, panting harshly into the scarce inches of space between them. It makes Spencer want to do something reckless, something lethal, but he tampers down the urge and instead palms each of Morgan’s shoulders, pressing down with a little force to ground him. Or maybe it is to ground himself, because Morgan holds the power to utterly devastate him.

The touch seems to have the opposite effect, however. Spencer finds himself abruptly spun around and slammed against the locked door, his back making contact with the hard surface with a resounding  _ bang! _

“What -”

His words are swallowed by Morgan, who attacks his lips with a ferocity he only displays whilst tackling unsubs. It is entirely possible that Spencer has finally gone off the deep end and started hallucinating. Hallucination or not, this is Derek Morgan, and he is entirely helpless in not returning the kiss. They come  together in an explosion of teeth and tongue and lips and Spencer is intoxicated on the knowledge that he wants this, _wants_   _ Morgan _ , more than he wants air.

The kiss ends as suddenly as it had began. Morgan pushes himself away with a hand against Spencer’s chest, panting like he had just run a marathon. His lips are kiss-swollen and a darker shade of red, enticing Spencer to move forward and bridge the space between them again. He tries to shuffle forward but Morgan’s hand against him makes that hard to achieve. He settles for staring at Morgan in confusion instead.

“What did you do that for?”

Morgan blinks at him, his face uncertain and brows furrowed in concentration. He raises his hand and rubs at his lips with his thumb and forefinger, and Spencer’s resolve almost breaks. He wants Morgan back in his personal bubble again, skin against skin and with his arms around him. Now that he knows what Morgan tastes like - coffee, aftershave, and the pizza from lunch: a seemingly gross combination but somehow Spencer doesn't mind - and feels like against him, it seems like an impossible concept to go back to an existence where he doesn't know such things. 

He has to forget, or this could ruin them all.

Without another word, Spencer Reid turns around and unlocks the door with trembling hands. Morgan is still standing stupefied when he leaves the suddenly too small room.

**Author's Note:**

> So, this is it, my first ever fic for the Criminal Minds fandom! I hear the show's coming to an end and Derek's already been gone for a while now, but this pairing has a special place in my heart. 
> 
> Anyway, let me know what you guys think? Every kudos, bookmark and comment mean the world to me. Share your opinion in a comment, even if it's just a few words. They honestly make my day. Constructive criticism is welcome, of course, and if I have made a mistake anywhere, please tell me so I can fix it. I have a really bad habit of getting distracted halfway through sentences.
> 
> Thank you!
> 
> Cheers,
> 
> Sapphire xoxo


End file.
